The Jim Hawkins Method for Getting Away With Anything
by martianfairy
Summary: Jim Hawkins can get away with anything. . . or nothing at all.


"Mom, I'm home!" Jim called, slinging his back-pack onto the nearest chair available. Say what you want about the Benbow, but it wasn't lacking in chairs or tables (or mold, or grime, or questionable objects stuck onto the tables and chairs).

About five different people and twelve eyes stared back at Jim, none of which belonged to his mother. So far, so good.

"Hey, Delbert," Jim addressed the thin, scholarly being, as nonchalantly as possible, "Do you know where Mom is?"

Delbert stuttered in a way that only he could ever manage: with his whole body. His chair screeched across the wooden floor and his food toppled dangerously close to the edge of his table.

"I-I'm Afraid not Jim, the last time I saw her she was serving me this delicious bowl of Alponian chowder. With extra Solara Seed of course. Have you ever tried it? I personally think-"

"Thanks Delbert." Jim cut him off before he could really get going, and headed brusquely towards his room. If his mom was working then he had a shot; he needed to let off some steam and definitely wasn't in the mood for explaining himself…

If he could just get up to his room, grab a few power couplings for his solar-surfer, and then run outside he would be home free.

He creaked his way up the stairs, skipping steps two at a time. After arriving at the top, he jogged down the hallway and slid into his room, a move made possible by a carpet of dust covering the wooden floor. He scanned the area, but it wasn't easy to spot tiny couplings amidst the tangle of machinery, clothes, and holo-books that took up every inch of space in his room.

Jim started digging. He franticly threw anything and everything in his path out of the way, earning a few scratches from scrap metal and wires, but there was still no sign of the couplings. He looked through drawer after drawer of his dresser. Nothing.

In a final desperate attempt, Jim stood all the way up and looked around the room again. There they were. Right on top of his pillow for Montresor's sake. He moved towards them, but it was like swimming in slow motion through all his junk.

He reached a hand out—

"Jim!" He winced at the sound of his mothers voice, but quickly recovered.

"H-Hi mom," he laughed nervously, swiping the couplings as he turned to face her. Maybe he could still make it out of the room without being grounded forever.

Sarah Hawkins squinted, clearly sensing something was off.

How does she already know?

"Sorry I didn't see you come in— How was your day at school?" The suspicion was rolling off of her in waves, but she was giving him the benefit of the doubt, Jim could tell.

Her mistake.

"Eh, it was okay. The usual, ya know, mostly just being ignored by everyone." He smiled sadly for emphasis. The words came easily; just because they were an excuse didn't mean they were a lie.

"That's all?" she asked, and Jim knew that line. It was asking for a confession— his last chance to tell the whole truth… but if she didn't know the whole truth…

"Yep, that's it."

He knew he had given the wrong answer by the was his mom sighed. She sighed the way Delbert stuttered: with her entire body. Sometimes even her soul. It was like a part of her was leaking out along with the CO2.

It killed Jim every time he watched her do it (which was a lot, and frequently because of him).

"Jim, I already saw the report card."

"H-how 'bout that C huh? that was a bright spot…"

A moment of heavy silence.

"I don't know what to do with you Jim!" Sarah continued with red tinged eyes, "It doesn't matter what I try, I can't get through to you that- that…"

She sighed again

"I know you can do better… I just can't make you do it."

With that, Jim's mom left the room as silently as she had come, leaving him to wish that she had punished him after all.

He cleared a spot on his bed to curl up on, dropping the couplings back onto his pillow.

Yeah… Any punishment would be better than being a disappointment.


End file.
